Chapter 57

A rock bounced off of the heavy wooden gate, calling it a rock did it little justice though. They were more small boulders than large rocks that lay at the foot of the gate and came from everywhere at the base of the mountains that loomed over the capital city of Vealand like the Titans of ancient mythology and gave life to Fiell through the waters they bestowed on the city from their run-off.

The large chunk of granite thumped against the main gate of Aris’ estate and fell to the hard packed dirt with a dull thud, leaving little more than a scratch as evidence that anything had ever happened.

The shouts, though they disappeared into the cool mountain air seconds after leaving the mouths of the accusers, left much deeper marks. They burrowed into the hearts of the guards who stood on the turrets above the gate to Aris’ large estate.

Was it true? Had the destruction that had torn their city apart, that many who were living in Aris’ estate had nearly died to fight, been caused by negligence from their commander?

Could the destruction that had destroyed the homes of friends and had killed two of the soldier’s families, been because Aris Ravenscroft had been foolish enough to show mercy to the monsters that had tried to murder their Emperor?

Aris himself had earlier said that he had wished to spare the lives of some of them so that he could interrogate them in order to find the roots of the rebellion. Had he actually done so? Had Aris Ravenscroft’s insistence that all of the would be assassins had been slain been a lie so he could locate the base of the rebellion and tear it down?

It was a wise thing to do. In fact, it was tactically brilliant. It was exactly what everyone thought that someone as accomplished and shrewd as the young General might do.

That was what made the rumor so insidious. It sounded exactly like what Aris Ravenscroft would do given the chance. He himself had said as much when just mere months ago the citizens of Fiell were practically worshiping him as some sort of reincarnation of the legends of the heroes of old that had guarded Portin and Brinhold during Vealand’s inception.

Aris would have kept some of the Rebellion alive. He would have tried to find the source of the insurrection and stuff it out from there.

Aris was human though. The old legends were legends for reasons. They were tall tales because those heroes were above fault. The people of Vealand had tried to turn Aris into one of their tall tales, and his failure to live up to their expectations had turned their love of him bitter. It had turned their misled adoration of him into a betrayal when the rumor had begin to spread.

Aris had betrayed his people. It mattered little that he had had the best intentions in mind. He had failed them. He had betrayed them by letting negligent soldiers guard traitors that were so dangerous, they had already very nearly killed Emperor Evrain, the savior of Vealand and when they had failed, they had decided to punish those under the benevolent ruler.

“It’s your fault you monster! I hope that you and your children burn!” a vitriolic voice screamed. “It’s because of your foolhardiness that I lost my home and my livelihood to the fires! It’s because your arrogance, thinking you could stop these rebels that I have no life left for me!”

Another stone bounced off the thick hardwood door, leaving little a series of scratches. The gate was made of the same wood that the metalvines every guard was trained in were made of, there was no danger of it breaking anytime soon. It would take more than the small boulders being hurled to do any substantial damage. In fact it would take hours of concentrated attack on one spot for the gates to begin to yield, but the shouts combined with the reverberations of the hurled stones, set apprehension in the hearts of those guarding the gates.

It was the accusations. They felt so real.

So truthful.

“You know it’s a lie,” Kestrel said, as he settled into place on the ramparts, relieving a small squat man, who down to his short-cropped red hair, looked for all the world like the personification of a brick, of his duty.

Kestrel felt guilty for not remembering the other guard’s name, but his mood lightened when he saw the man pause to consider his words before he left to return to the barracks that the estate housed.

Aris had trained his personal recruits well. They may not have the answers, they may even believe in bits of the rumor that had sprung up, Kestrel could see the words working their way through his comrade’s mind, but still Aris Ravenscroft’s men were loyal. He had seen them facing their disbelief at the rumors and standing to defend Aris anyway despite the constant waves of screams that assaulted them.

Their loyalty was a testament to the character Aris and Kestrel knew he deserved every bit of devotion that his men offered him and more. He had taken Kestrel from the streets, trained him, and had even searched for Cillia alongside him.

Aris was a man that inspired devotion. He wasn’t a charismatic man, no one would ever accuse him of that, but his honesty and uprightness was an inspiration to everyone around him.

Kestrel, not knowing exactly when, had promised himself that, even if it took a lifetime, he would repay the General for what he had done for him. He would forever be in debt to General Ravenscroft for saving him from a dead-end life and instilling not only battle skills in him, but giving him a purpose for his life. A direction.

As far as it concerned him, Aris had become family, and even if he were to deny him, Kestrel would remain loyal to the man. He owed his future to Aris Ravenscroft and he owed his life to Wallace.

That was another man that he would spend the rest of his life protecting. The grizzled old soldier had given up everything to save his life. He had broken a sacred vow to Aris’ brother Van to teach Kestrel magic.

He owed everything to those two men. Them and Sephira.

He would protect them. He would guard the Ravenscroft family with his life.

He just wished he could guard them with the truth. But the truth was too big. Too damning. It would destroy the world of the masses as they knew it, and what would it be for? If they couldn’t find a way to stop Emperor Evrain, they would lose everything and the people would forget their proclamation against their salvific ruler as soon as the words left their lips.

No, they needed to find a way to make Evrain expose himself. Show the world the shocking truth that Dren had gave his life in an attempt to reveal. They needed to expose what Aris’ elder brother Van had been put to death for fighting against. They needed to reveal that Evrain was a Memory Mage. One of untold power. One who could influence whole cities by his mere presence without ever laying a hand on any of his subjects.

They needed to show that he was not only the most powerful Memory Mage to have ever walked their earth, but one who had already destroyed their coast and almost beyond doubt, had destroyed the nation of Sanfid as well. They needed to expose Evrain as the monster nobody believed that he was.

They needed destroy Evrain but he had out maneuvered them. Aris had seen his past with their brief touch just mere days ago. He had seen hints of the destruction he’d caused in the past. He had also seen something that had taken his speech away. Aris seen places that had faded into mythology. He had seen places unheard of outside of the Emperor’s memories.

What exactly had he seen? What unknown depths of knowledge and history did Evrain carry within himself?

And how?

It should have been impossible. His knowledge of the past couldn’t be real. That meant he had to ancient. H had to have lived much longer than was humanly possible.

Was he immortal?

That was impossible! There was no way that it was true, but Aris had seen the memories. They weren’t lies. He had been trained well enough to tell the difference between the fake and real recollections the touch of a Taker revealed. Wallace had seen to that.

What Aris had seen upon his touch of Evrain had been real. Evrain had been there. He’d lived through those long forgotten times. He had lived for hundreds, if not thousands of years.

But it was impossible. It had to be.

Right?

Kestrel’s mind was refocused as one of the protestors, tired of their fruitless assault on the doors, had hurled a stone at the guards who stood upon the rampart. The rock whistled past his ear, dropping fruitlessly to the courtyard ground behind them.

William, a brawny blond youth, about the same age as Kestrel as far as he knew —it was hard to be sure when Kestrel didn’t know his own birthday— and had been standing in rapt attention lowered the crossbow that had rested on his shoulder and had leveled it to bear upon the unruly crowds that stood outside their gate.

“Don’t,” Kestrel cautioned him.

His mouth twitched at the corners. Kestrel could see that he wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to silence the mindless violent mob that screamed vitriol from a misled sense of justice.

“Don’t they know that we’ve lost just as much as them?” William’s voice strained with an agonized frustration. “My family lost their home in the fire. I had to watch the tears streaming down their faces as our house burned down and I couldn’t stop it. I watched as their world crumbled beneath them!”

Kestrel could see the torment in Williams eyes. It was dangerous. Hurt people being ignored by those who had experienced the same pain was always a recipe for trouble. The cycle of pain was like an ouroboros, constantly self cannibalizing in an effort to outdo itself on who had been hurt the worst by whom. Kestrel had seen the dangers of false empathy. He’d seen the bodies that piled up under the name of envy disguised as altruism.

The last thing this situation needed was someone like William —someone hurt from the loss of his family home and confused from the accusations against his commander that sounded so real— to lose his cool and do something that couldn’t be undone.

“Put it down William,” Kestrel commanded him. “You know that nothing good will come if you fire at them. You know that will only make things worse. You know that they’re just acting this way because they’ve lost everything. Living on the streets is hard. It was near impossible for me and I grew up there. These people have come from lives of comfort and they’ve been thrust into an alien world. Of course they’re scared. They’re terrified and they don’t know what to do, so they look for someone to blame because it’s easier than actually facing the troubles that are confronting them. It’s easier for them to shout and fight than it is for them to stand up and make something of their lives like you have. You should pity them instead of wanting to kill them. They aren’t even worth a second thought.”

Kestrel’s words seemed to be reaching the young man. The tension that had twisted his features into a mask of agony and rage started subsiding. He knew that Kestrel was speaking the truth.

He didn’t hate these fools. He pitied them. They had lost everything they’d ever known, and instead of being real men, they were lashing out like children. He didn’t hate them. They weren’t worth hating. They were piteous creatures.

William’s finger still hovered over the trigger, but the tension fled from him and he began to raise the crossbow to a resting position.

Nobody saw the rock that slammed into his shoulder and sent the bolt lashing through the air into the crowd gathered at the gate.